


Tempus Rerum Imperator

by Anonymous



Category: Knight & Rogue - Hilari Bell
Genre: M/M, Magic, Not so subtle villainy, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, cliches and subversions, lots of magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a bard's tale come to life: a mysterious drought, an idyllic town with treachery to hide, and a day that has wrapped itself around an anchor, immutable, leaving him with Fisk's blood on the earth and no means of escaping it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempus Rerum Imperator

**Author's Note:**

> Posted late because I was very confused by the rules of the exchange, so very sorry to whoever this as for. The rest will follow, it's going to be very long in the end, but just one chapter for now! Apologies that it did not get to the looping yet. (Also I was told this is supposed to be anonymous so hopefully it is? I don't know how collections work.)

T’was a fair place, Meadow Brook, though not so fair as it may have been if it but lived up to its name (such a common one, Fisk grumbled, that it ought at least mean something). The roads were well paved, though with the sort of cobblestone that kept Chant at a limp, and the people few enough that none seemed to be wanting of a home. Most had seemed more pleased than wary at the sight of travelers (and, of course, the business they typically brought), though none had yet approached them. True had found himself busy in the company of a sheepdog, panting quietly in the shade, and the children playing under a woman’s nearby watch showed no fear of strangers, which meant they had never been given cause for any.

Idealistic, truly, if t’were not so barren. The proclaimed meadow stretched for nearly a quarter of a league, yet contained no more than firm-packed mud, still more than the damp pebbles the brook seemed to boast. 

“It must have been full very recently,” Michael supposed, bending low over the bank to lift one of the stones, as wet as if a morning dew had just passed. Here, the water (what may have been), met the village for the first time, and the ground near it bore the grooves of old wash poles and footprints, almost fresh. 

Fisk gave a long sigh as his preliminary answer, but by the end of it was crouched as well. He despised small towns, claimed they held too much accountable and were far more prejudiced than pleasant. Michael was well aware of that, and intended that they should be well on their way before long, and yet… well, as his friend had pointed out on seeing it, the people likely relied on the brook for everything. Water for bathing, cooking, drinking, farming, trading. He could not very well ignore their need without even first knowing its cause.

Neither could Fisk, for he would not have mentioned his concerns if he had not been hoping Michael would provide an excuse for acting on them, but that never stopped him from pretending.

“They might have just dammed it up, you know. Or, worse, someone might have put a magica fish on the table, and now you’ve just gotten us cursed with the rest of them. Either way, this sounds like an apprentice bard’s yarn, and I want nothing to do with it.” Fisk seemed to be avoiding getting within a foot of the bank just in case, watching the rock Michael held doubtfully. “Haven’t we learned our lesson about messing with magic?”

“You have been demanding that I practice spells on every mundane task we cross for years!”

“Yes, but that’s you.”

“What is that supposed to-”

“What are you two doing over there?” It was a man’s voice, sharp and near- both Michael and Fisk jumped to their feet, himself guiltily snapping his hands behind his back to hide the stone, as though evidence of some crime.

Which was completely ridiculous, for he of all people could tell that the stone was just a stone, so he soothed his stance and put on a smile for the newcomer, though nowhere near so seamlessly as Fisk. “I apologize if we have trespassed where we should not; I was merely curious as to how this bed came to run dry.”

“Well, next time consider asking first, that ground’s not very stable, you might’ve broken a leg,” chided the man, who appeared by his apron to be a baker returning from his morning’s work, or perhaps an assistant. He had the girth of a settled craftsman, but beneath the swell of his cheeks his face was a young one, even drawn in concern. “Hope I didn’t startle you two? Only five days ago we had a trader dropping in there, his whole shoulder popped right out of place. It doesn’t look like much of a fall, but the ground will drag you if you hit hard enough, and there’s plenty of rocks beneath big enough to do some harm. I keep saying we could do with a fence before one of the children gets a head over, but we don’t really have the wood to spare.”

Was he finished? Michael hesitated just a moment too long in assuming either way, and the Baker’s gaze wandered, straight to his clenched palm. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“This? Oh, it is-” Nothing. His fingers unfurled around a heavy weight, the loose gravel scraping their pads as it shook free, but where he should have seen mud and stone Michael’s gaze fell merely upon his own hand. “Nothing. Only a habit.”

It took a great deal of will not to exchange a startled look with Fisk at his side, but as ever his squire was quick enough in recovering that it mightn’t have mattered. “Sorry, but did you say you know how the bank’s dried up?”

“Hm? Oh, I suppose it does sound like that, doesn’t it? My mistake, sirs, I’ve no idea what’s happened, none of us do, but telling you could’ve saved the trouble, I think,” the baker apologized, without sounding very sorry at all. “Been like that for over a month, now. We’ve been getting water sent by the local lord, very kind of him, too, but it hasn’t done much for business. We never got many travelers before, but now the roads are empty as often as not.”

His smile was still friendly, but it had a bit of strain to it- the concern was clear. So what are you two doing here? “We take to the road a bit more than most. I’ll be surprised if there’s anywhere in the realm we haven’t gone by the end of next Appleon,” Fisk explained, for which Michael was grateful. It was not as though an answer was hard to find, but the Baker’s manner was subtly unsettling enough that he did not know how safe it would be to give one. “We somehow never seem able to ignore it when we spot a problem.”

“You two mercenaries? We’ve no wish for trouble here, hired swords-”

“Not quite, good man, there is nothing to be afraid of.” Well, Fisk could not complain, he’d put them in the position to have to explain something. “I am Michael Sevenson, a knight errant searching for good deeds across the land, and this here is Fisk, my squire.”  
-  
The Baker (by the name of Rubin Sturgiss, apparently) had laughed, but he hadn’t been very convincing about it. He hadn’t asked for their help with the brook, either, which, damn him and that noble idiot both, was exactly why Fisk had had to offer to give it.

Stupid idea. Awful idea. An idea that was probably going to get them killed, even if Michael couldn’t see it yet. But probably the only idea, because unless there was another knight errant and squire running about with the same names, then the Baker not only knew but feared them. An uncomfortable feeling, fear didn’t exactly lend to rationality, and Fisk didn’t want anybody rushing in with pitch forks. He only hoped they’d heard good things- nobody seemed to realize he was unredeemed anyway, but the innkeeper still jumped every time Michael spoke, and Fisk was fairly sure he’d barred their window. Not well, mind, but really, it was the thought that counted. Maybe they shouldn’t have left the horses with their man...

They were going to be murdered in their sleep, weren’t they? It was a small town with maybe a horse between them, they could run for the hills by morning… But if they somehow knew about what he could do, they might have the High Liege's guard on them within the week. The most visibly dangerous route may have been the safest, for once. Hopefully. If the local paranoia didn’t knife them in the back as soon as they were turned.

Michael, bless his frustrating soul, seemed not to have noticed. Once he had finished expressing his all encompassing excitement over Fisk actually wanting to help (gods strike him down now, this was going to be impossible to live with), his devotion had been to the most ridiculously trivial things. “Can you not see it at all? You are certain?”

“Michael, there is most definitely not a rock in my hand. Well,” he curled his fingers, felt the rock chafe them, and shrugged, “it doesn’t look like there is, anyway. Do you suppose you could do this with anything? A knife, gold, a really ugly neighbor?”

“This is not a time for jokes, Fisk!”

“I really don’t see how it isn’t. You realize what did?” By the miserable nod, yes, very much so, but not in quite the right way. “The Baker’s voice frightened you, so you turned the rock invisible. You, Noble Sir, are channeling a rabbit. Think maybe we should lay off it for awhile? Unless we can start making you invisible as well, in which case I say we start breeding the things.”

There was that look again. It wasn’t often that Michael was actually angry, but he always looked it when his magic came up. Thankfully, these walls were too thin to risk a shouting match, so he contented himself by growling yet again that, “It is not a laughing matter. Horn and hoof, do you know what could be done with something like this?”

No, it wasn’t a laughing matter, which was exactly why he needed to give in and laugh about it. When he’d hated himself for those tattoos and decided he was somehow too criminal for good deeds, Fisk had used those ridiculous titles until he’d seen sense again. If he had to beat it into his head that having outstanding powers was a good thing, then he’d damn well do it. Sometimes Michael forgot that he didn’t know everything, let alone what was best for himself. Lady Ceciel’s shadow couldn’t follow him forever.

But maybe that was a conversation to be had somewhere a little less in-your-business than Meadow Brook. “Probably nothing that’ll fill that brook, anyway. Do you think they’ll even let us out of here long enough to look?” They had the only key (that they’d been told of) to the door, but that would only get them into the hall, and there were a dozen convenient excuses for locking up the lobby of an inn. 

Now Michael laughed, once again missing what actually mattered. “I know t’was quite obvious that Sturgiss was hiding something, Fisk, but I do not think they will trap us in our room. Mayhap he or another mistakenly did harm to some magica crop or animal, and is attempting to hide their shame. I do not imagine there is a savant nearby, we may do them good if we fetch one.”

Or we might get ourselves killed. Still. Fisk needed to know whatever it was they knew, and this was the best excuse for lingering in town he would get. May as well cooperate, it was nice to see the big oaf so happy. “It only does good if whoever’s responsible comes clean and decides to pay whatever the savant demands.”

“If t’will save the town, I am sure they will, and happily, too.”

“The drought’s not bad enough for that. If it comes down to being tossed to the whim of a savant or drinking barreled water instead of fresh, I know what I would pick.”

“You know it is more than that. They need not even make recompense publically- I am certain the trouble will not be in convincing the culprit but finding them.”

“I am certain you’re out of your mind, but that’s nothing new.” 

“You must have had some sort of plan?” Michael wondered, his eyes twinkling with a satisfaction that suggested he knew Fisk had an ulterior motive, if not exactly what that was. “Care to share it?”

“Coming from the man who’s never had forethought in his life! Tell me, when’s the last time you made a promise with any idea how to fulfill it?” Fisk knew he didn’t make the most impressive picture when he was stern, but Michael could have done better than grinning at him like that. Knowing he was right, too. “I was thinking we’d ask around, until we came by someone a little more honest than Sturgiss. Not many people in town going to be overly loyal to the money of a baker, we just have to hope he’s not well liked.”

“I am sure he merely is nervous of strangers, and you cannot blame him for it. We are hardly unassuming,” Michael pointed out, slipping the leather braces from his wrists as he did so. The skin there had not been tanning with the rest, leaving the tattoos an even brighter contrast against the whiteness- it was the scars and ragged beard that people’d be noticing, though. As for Fisk, he took care to be as unassuming and common as possible, as usual, but even he’d grown a little matty on the road. And there was, of course, the war horse. And the sword. Hard to be invisible, when you were traveling with a knight errant.

Well, unless he made you that way. Fisk tossed the rock in his palm, feeling it thump without so much as leaving a shadow. A mysterious drought, a dead field, and a perfect town whose people twitched at suspicion. It was the opening number to a tale he did not want to be involved in, but most people would see magic exactly as Michael did. He would be strung up, or experimented on- again. 

It wasn’t just Jack’s voice at the back of his head, even Anna would be calling him mad for this. “You’re going to get us both killed, you know that?” Fisk sighed, stripping down for the night himself, if he was going to be stuck here. Michael was climbing into bed already, and laughed yet again.

“Me? T’was your idea.”

So he always seemed to think, anyway. If he didn’t even know when he was being protected, Fisk didn’t like to think what Michael would do on his own, if he was ever forced to come up with something for himself. “If you say so, Noble Sir. But don’t forget when they’re putting us in our graves, I didn’t want to come here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this wasn't too much of a wreck! This is a trope I usually actively avoid, so I'm a bit unpracticed, but I'll give it my best!


End file.
